The Battle in the Bush

Bill Woodley killed his first elephant at 16. By 19 he had shot 150 tuskers and lived as a professional ivory hunter. Today, at 60, he is the elephant's staunchest protector, leading the desperate war against poachers in Kenya's Tsavo National Park. "They say once an elephant hunter, always an elephant hunter," says Woodley. "But I've spent the past 41 years hunting poachers." The difference, he observes wryly, is that "poachers shoot back."

Tsavo, the country's largest wildlife reserve, was once the grandest elephant sanctuary in Kenya. Now it is a case study of what has gone wrong -- and how the elephant may yet be saved. Tsavo stretches over 8,000 sq. mi., an area the size of Israel. In the mid-1960s, 40,000 elephants thundered amid the scrub thorn, acacia and baobob trees. Last year's aerial survey spotted only 5,363 live elephants in and around the park, and 2,421 carcasses. The survivors are skittish creatures, often clustered in fear and quick to flee at the scent of man.

Years ago, Wakamba tribesmen poached in Tsavo, using arrows tipped with poison. Now Somali gangs, including many former soldiers, spray whole families of elephants with automatic-weapon fire. Not all Tsavo's poachers have been outsiders to the park. Some who are paid to protect the elephants -- wardens and rangers -- are also suspect. The evidence: Woodley and others have extracted .303-cal. bullets from carcasses. "The only people who use .303s are the rangers," he says. Numerous carcasses have been found near the rangers' headquarters. And when the park's patrol plane is grounded for inspection, the poachers quickly appear. Someone has tipped them off. Corruption is hard to eradicate, since rangers' salaries run as low as $90 a month. "It was policy not to interfere with departmental poaching," says an assistant warden.

Now Kenya is striking back. In his breast pocket, Woodley has an envelope stuffed with 30,000 Kenyan shillings ($1,428) -- money for informants. The antipoaching units are exchanging their World War I bolt-action rifles for automatic assault weapons. Within the past year the APUs have killed 18 poachers under a shoot-to-kill order. Dozens of senior wildlife-department personnel have been interrogated, and some have been relieved of their duties. These measures seem to be working. In the past month not one fresh carcass has been found. "Everyone is keen as mustard," says Woodley, beaming. "We'll win for sure." It is too early, though, to declare victory. After a similar crackdown in 1978, the price of ivory soared and poaching resumed.

In July, Kenya's President, Daniel arap Moi, set ablaze a twelve-ton mountain of illicit ivory -- 3,000 tusks worth $3 million. To those familiar with the plundering of Kenya's herds and the corruption in its wildlife department, the fire was a kind of exorcism. "If we go wrong here, hope will be lost in many parts of this continent," says Richard Leakey, who became head of the department in April. "If we go right here, there is a chance for things to happen elsewhere much more rapidly than any of us would have dared to believe."